


No Light, No Light

by waywardriot



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Gen, MAJOR KHUX SPOILERS, vanitas is a bitch as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26288683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardriot/pseuds/waywardriot
Summary: “It’s time for you to take back what’s yours.”Ventus rolls his eyes, presuming that they’re going back to this old fight, as if they haven’t hashed it out several times already. “I’m not joining with you, Vanitas,” he says, shaking his head firmly. “You can stay here if that’s where you need to be, but our hearts are separate now.”“That? Pfft.” Vanitas waves a hand dismissively. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Memories, Ventus.”Vanitas has been holding onto Ventus’s worst memories for too long; it’s Ventus's turn to bear the hurt.
Relationships: Vanitas & Ventus (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 109





	No Light, No Light

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR KHUX SPOILERS! if you didn’t keep up with the jp update from the other day and don’t want to know, turn back now!
> 
> so, first of all—i want to say that i don’t think ventus counts as the murderer/is at fault because as we saw he just stands there and is obviously brainwashed/possessed. but we all know sweet lil ven is gonna put all the blame on himself and vanitas wants him to suffer too :)
> 
> sorry i broke my heart with this too

When Ventus wakes up, he’s not in his own bed. 

Or maybe he is—he’s not sure anymore. This isn’t his bed in the Land of Departure and it’s certainly not his room, but it doesn’t feel entirely foreign. Just like he’s been gone for a long, long time. 

And the presence sitting at the foot of his bed isn’t foreign, either.

Ventus sits up with a start as soon as he processes something that he could never miss, staring at it with wide eyes.

“Oh, Sleeping Beauty finally woke up,” Vanitas says, one leg casually drawn up on the bed like he’s been reclining there, knowing what’s to come. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“What—Vanitas?” Ventus says, regarding him cautiously. A pit settles deep in his stomach, not quite fear but not _not_ fear—and a little bit of guilt, which isn’t an unfamiliar emotion when it comes to the lost half of his heart. “How are you here? I thought you died...”

Vanitas scoffs and rolls his eyes, propping his arm up on his knee. “You’re as slow as always, aren’t you?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “I’m part of you, Ventus. As long as you’re alive, I can’t truly die. Where else would I be but your heart?”

“My heart?” Ventus looks around the room, but he can’t make sense of it. It just... looks like a normal room, not a stained glass platform leading into nothingness. “But how...” 

However, as he adjusts more to his surroundings, he realizes this is familiar, but in a different way than he originally thought. Somehow, this setting brings to mind waves lapping at the shore and an endless stretch of blue in all directions. “Oh,” he says softly. “Like Sora’s heart.”

“Bravo. Looks like you figured it out,” Vanitas says, clapping slowly, mockingly; it puts Ventus further on edge. “Like Sora’s heart.”

And of course Vanitas is as annoying and abrasive as always. Sure, Ventus feels guilt over his life and death—or, apparently, his non-death—but he doesn’t miss this side of him. Shooting Vanitas a glare, he sits up properly and gazes around the room again. “But why am I here now, then?”

Vanitas’s face takes on an expression that Ventus has never seen on him before; it’s too solemn, with not a hint of mockery. This face means _something_ , and Ventus doesn’t know what… but he’s sure it’s not good.

“It’s time for you to take back what’s yours.”

Ventus rolls his eyes, presuming that they’re going back to this old fight, as if they haven’t hashed it out several times already. “I’m not joining with you, Vanitas,” he says, shaking his head firmly. “You can stay here if that’s where you need to be, but our hearts are separate now.”

“That? Pfft.” Vanitas waves a hand dismissively. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Memories, Ventus.”

That takes Ventus by surprise, as he honestly can’t imagine a world where Vanitas isn’t hell-bent on joining their hearts together. He’s almost certain this is a trap—but he falls into it despite himself, because Vanitas knows exactly which buttons to press. “Memories of what?” he asks cautiously.

“Who we once were,” Vanitas says as he gestures to the room around them. “You don’t remember this room, do you? But it was ours. Yours.”

“Mine,” Ventus says carefully, idly picking at a stray thread in the blanket to offset his anxiety. “I don’t remember.”

“Obviously,” Vanitas scoffs. “I can tell by that dull look in your eyes. It almost reminds me...”

Again, Ventus stumbles straight into the trap. “Of what?”

“I think a little of the light inside of you died that day,” Vanitas goes on, as cryptic as ever; Ventus doesn’t know why he thought he’d get a straight answer. 

“ _What_ day?” Ventus says, unconsciously balling his hands into fists. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on—think.”

Vanitas really couldn’t be any vaguer if he tried. Ventus thinks and, of course, finds nothing but a pounding headache. “I said, _what_ are you _talking about?”_ he all but growls, a tone more befitting of Vanitas. 

“Oh, that’s funny. The little light has absolutely no idea what he truly is!” Vanitas laughs cruelly and shakes his head again. “Do you want to know?”

Ventus hesitates. “I—I’m—”

Does he want to know? Does he really want to know what’s beating at his temples like it won’t be ignored any longer?

“You killed her,” Vanitas says, calm and collected in an instant. His voice is almost sweet, saying words that Ventus can sense have been buried for a long time. “You killed her, and you don’t even remember her.”

Ventus feels all the blood drain out of his face, and he’s sure he’s as pale as death ( _how ironic_ ). “You’re lying,” he says, voice trembling. “I’ve never killed anybody.”

“Since when am I one to lie?” Vanitas says, fixing Ventus with an unforgiving gaze, and then his smile turns cruel once again. “The truth hurts.”

And as much as he hates it, Ventus knows he’s not lying; Vanitas is a straightforward person… but this still doesn’t make sense. Ventus has never killed anyone. He’d _know_ if he killed someone, right? He doesn’t remember his life from before, but there’s no way he’d forget something like that. 

Right?

_Right?_

“You’ve always had it so nice,” Vanitas continues, standing up and walking over to one of the bookshelves in the room. “You’ve had your perfect little life with your friends by your side. You got to have picnics and play hide-and-seek while _I_ rotted in the desert. And you know what?” He looks back at Ventus and points at him. “ _You_ are the one who deserved that punishment. It’s high time that you learn and you _pay_.”

“Stop it, Vanitas,” Ventus says, his eyes stinging with tears that he can’t let fall just yet, not in front of Vanitas. 

He can’t let him know he’s scared in a way he’s never been scared before—but Vanitas is a part of his heart. He must know, even if the look on Ventus’s face doesn’t spell it out. 

“Don’t be a crybaby. I’ve been carrying this burden for you for _years_ ,” Vanitas snaps. He turns back to the bookshelf and takes a book out, opening it and slowly leafing through the pages. “Hm. Isn’t it ironic that you had so many books in your room when you were just too stupid to read?”

“I—I could too read!” Ventus says, unsure why he’s so offended by that when there’s something far, far larger looming over their heads, moments away from crushing them. “And don’t change the subject!”

“Whatever.” Vanitas tosses the book over his shoulder and it hits the ground with a loud, sudden noise, making Ventus jump a little. “Doesn’t change the fact that you killed her. The poor girl just wanted a friend, and you killed her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Ventus says, his voice finally breaking as he pounds his fists on his thighs. “Why are you doing this?”

“Oh, stop with the tantrum, Ventus,” Vanitas says, again rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe killing her meant so little to you that you don’t even remember it.”

“I didn’t kill anyone!”

“Mm.” Vanitas wiggles his hand in the air indecisively. “More or less. You led them to her and just stood there. You picked up the book before her blood could even reach it. She’s dead because of you.”

It’s awful. Ventus can tell just how much fun Vanitas is having drawing this out—he’s never seen this kind of glee from him, not even when Vanitas was mocking him for losing right before they fused over a decade ago. It’s sinister and unsettling and Ventus can’t do anything to stop it. 

“Who is _she?”_ Ventus asks before he can stop himself, knowing that this is just going to dig the hole deeper. 

“Finally you ask.” Vanitas trails his fingers over the spines of the books on the shelves, abruptly stopping on one. When he pulls it out and opens it to a random page, he grins at Ventus. “Convenient how the heart will give you what you’re looking for.”

As Vanitas walks back towards him with the book in his hands, Ventus has to resist the urge to scramble away from him. Thankfully, instead of the fight he was expecting, Vanitas simply sets the book down on Ventus’s lap and taps the page that it’s open to with one clawed finger. “See?”

On the page is a picture of a flower Ventus doesn’t know the name of, orange and purple and sharp. He knows for a fact that he’s never seen this flower on any world he’s been to—but at the same time it feels familiar. Below the picture is a name in a text Ventus shouldn’t know, but somehow he reads it effortlessly. 

“Strelitzia…”

“Strelitzia,” Vanitas repeats. “Ring any bells?”

It rings a lot of bells, actually, clamoring in Ventus’s mind and making it too loud to think. He still can’t put a name to a face, though; when he thinks of the word _Strelitzia_ , nothing comes up in his head except the image of a featureless figure in white. “I…”

Vanitas knocks his knuckles against Ventus’s temple and sighs. “Come on. I know your head isn’t quite _that_ empty. At least give her the respect of remembering her.”

Uncomfortably stiff, Ventus doesn’t even have the wherewithal to smack Vanitas’s hand away, and he stares blankly down at the book as Vanitas sits down on the edge of the bed, close enough to be dangerous. Ventus presses his finger to the page and traces the lines and angles of the flower petals, willing his mind to remember. 

“Her hair… was orange,” he says carefully after a minute. “Like the flower.” He hesitates again, idly fidgeting with the page. “She…”

“Go on,” Vanitas says, his chin resting in his hand as he watches Ventus with rapt, mocking attention. 

“She was… she…” Ventus squeezes his eyes shut and resists the urge to tear the page from the book out of frustration. It feels like it’s _right there_ , right on the tip of his tongue, but every time he tries to grasp the threads and wind them together, they slip through his fingers. He wishes he could just wake up and pretend all of this never happened, but he knows this is a dream he’ll never be able to forget.

It has to be resolved here and now, like Vanitas said.

“...I barely knew her,” he says softly. “She was—she was quiet. And…” 

Brows pinched together as he thinks, Ventus messes with the edge of the page, hissing quietly when it accidentally slices into the meat of his thumb. He goes to put it into his mouth to stop the blood from flowing, but then a drop falls onto the page, and he freezes.

“Oh, poor Venty-Wenty,” Vanitas simpers. “Does the—”

The rest of Vanitas’s taunt fades away as Ventus stares down at the book and the blood seeping into the picture of the Strelitzia. The orange and the red could almost match each other, and the alarm bells ring louder and louder and _louder_ until—

Ventus shrieks and shoves the book off his lap like it just bit him, turning his head away. “ _No!”_ he cries out, his hands clutching his head. 

“And there it is,” Vanitas says proudly, leaning back on his hands. “How does it feel, Ventus? Is it as painful as it’s been for me?”

At any other time Ventus would have a sharp retort for Vanitas, but he’s too busy bursting into tears to pay the taunt any mind. “No,” he says between sobs. “You’re—you’re lying.”

“It’s not just me telling you. It’s your heart, and hearts don’t lie.”

“Oh, god,” Ventus whimpers, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I killed her. I killed Strelitzia.”

“Yes. You killed her and took her place—stood right next to her brother and pretended you didn’t slaughter his little sister.” Vanitas shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “Xehanort was wrong about you. You were never too kind. You’re simply a monster that knows how to hide.”

“I really am,” Ventus gasps through the tears. There’s no room to argue—he knows it and Vanitas knows it and _Strelitzia_ knows it. They all know it. Everyone.

Ventus has painted himself pure, when really he’s tainted enough to bring everyone down with him. Has _that_ been his fate all along?

“We really are the same,” Vanitas continues mindlessly, like Ventus isn’t crying his eyes out a foot away from him. When Ventus looks at Vanitas from between his fingers, he looks more satisfied than Ventus has ever seen him. “One born a monster, and one made a monster.”

Ventus goes to say _I hate you_ , but all that comes out is, “I hate myself.”

“So you finally know how it feels,” Vanitas says. “Are you sorry?”

“I’m sorry,” Ventus says, crumpling in on himself as he draws his legs to his chest and curls up into a ball. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—I—I’m so—”

All the arguments fade from Ventus’s mind as he loses coherency. Every time he opens his eyes, Vanitas is mocking him, but every time he closes them, Strelitzia is bleeding on the ground, whispering something that Ventus can’t quite hear. 

There’s absolutely nothing he can do but sob and repeat that _oh, god, he’s so sorry_ while he falls to pieces inside his own heart with no one but his twisted reflection to witness it, silently jeering and making it all so much worse.

Vanitas was right; Ventus deserved the punishment all along, and now years of missed penance are catching up to him in a place he can’t escape.  
  


* * *

  
The next thing Ventus knows, he’s awake in his own bed in the Land of Departure. There’s no sign of what happened last night, no indication of the person he discovered and the secret he learned; for all he knows, it could have been a nightmare. 

But he knows deep in his heart that it wasn’t. 

The sun is shining through the window, a perfectly lovely day—one Ventus would typically enjoy outside with his friends, finally reunited—but he can barely see it through the tears in his eyes.

He doesn’t deserve to see it, anyways.

But still, in fifteen minutes, Aqua will start making breakfast. In fifteen minutes, Terra will come knock on Ventus’s door to make sure he’s awake. In fifteen minutes, Ventus will get up and force himself to put a smile on his face.

In fifteen minutes, Strelitzia will still be dead, and Ventus will still be a murderer.


End file.
